


Waiting for Neverland

by Cân Cennau (cancennau)



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Introspection, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Nostalgia, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 15:56:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9499211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cancennau/pseuds/C%C3%A2n%20Cennau
Summary: Elim has been on Earth for seven years. From their shared home on Cardassia, Kelas contemplates their relationship.





	

    Second star on the right and straight on till morning. The directions to Neverland, Kelas remembered, J. M. Barrie’s Peter Pan. They stared out through the window, the night sky dotted with stars and ships and stations, all indistinguishable from this distance. The mauve backdrop was burnt with flashes of umber, as the last vestiges of dusk slipped away, leaving true night time in its wake. It was quiet, too quiet, a quiet that not even the radio playing quietly in the corner could dispel. Kelas didn’t seem to even notice it, a far of look in their eyes, drawing circles and squiggles on the dining room table with his hand-claws, skating around the used cutlery and plates, in a well practiced habit. Second star on the right and straight on till morning, which was exactly how far Elim felt away from them.

    It was now seven years since Elim had left for Earth. Seven years of video calls and handwritten letters, seven years of living in a house meant for two people, seven years of getting by on the intimacy only afforded on the rare times Garak could come home. Alon Ghemor had announced his appointment as Ambassador to the Federation at the start of their second term in office, just as Garak had served as _pur-nim_ for a year, and earned some modicum of respect from the population as a whole. It was a promotion, of sorts - Garak’s supporters from his time as _pur-nim_ celebrated that finally he would have more of a say in politics, whilst his detractors rejoiced in the fact that he’d be out from under their feet for some time. Elim had considered rejecting the offer, Kelas had considered coming with him, but after many nights of discussing, arguing and comforting, it was Elim alone who boarded the shuttle, leaving Kelas alone with the remnants of a goodbye kiss and a house filled with the clutter of two people.

    Well, “alone” was truly a subjective term. They weren’t lonely, in the traditional sense. Kelas had plenty of friends to keep them company - the staff on their ward at the hospital were kind, the tea club they went to every week kept them plyed with gossip and chatter, and Bleşin and their family had them around for lunch several days a week. Kelas just missed the man, missed the two cups of tea over breakfast, the discussions about books and radio dramas and plays, the weekly treasure hunt for Kelas’ odd socks, the warm solidness next to them in bed and in their arms in comforting hugs. Not even the daily text messages of _men beltas_ in the morning and _zasmacUs beltas_ before bed could replace having him near, and knowing he was close by.

    Kelas wasn’t _angry_ with Alon for making that decision _,_ per se, just… frustrated. And disappointed. It was clear why Alon had decided to send Elim away - Elim was a fantastic worker, a popular figure, but his past was a liability that Alon did not want to handle. The funny nuances of life in politics - Kelas didn’t pretend to understand all of them. Alon’s friendship with Kelas had cooled somewhat since then - Kelas, who needed space to come to terms with the fact that their friend had sent away their husband, and Alon, who couldn’t understand how Kelas had forgiven Elim, and who Kelas suspected had and did believe that their marriage was unhealthy.

    They sighed, before standing up, stretching out their arms and shoulders to get rid of any residual stiffness, before beginning to pack away their dinner things. There was no point thinking about it now - what was done, was done, Alon was dead, and Kelas had better things to do than mope. The chickens needed feeding, a letter to Elim needed to be penned, the orchids tended to, some paperwork needed to be finished… As they passed the radio, Kelas precariously balanced the dirty dinnerware on one hand and turned the music up, trying to dispel the stifling silence. The song was soft, slow - a ballad, and Kelas frowned as they tried to remember where exactly they heard it before.

It came to them a moment later, and they remembered, smiling as their mind riffled through five years of being without him, to a point just before Elim left. The smell of hot, toasted _bet’to_ bread and _GircidUm_ beans fermented into a kind of tofu, breakfast dishes on the sideboard, a crooning Kardasi singer playing on the crackling radio, Elim’s hands on their waist. They remembered circling the room, laughing, teasing, the soft _pap pap pap_ of slippers as they twirled around the kitchen. They were not good dancers - off-beat for most of it, and dancing into the furniture more than once - but it was good.

    It was good.

    The chime of the communication array broke them out of their reverie. Kelas dropped the dishes in the sink, making a mental note to wash them later. They wandered back out into the living area, humming a little, still warm from nostalgic memories, towards the array. The red light flickered at him, noting an incoming call, but no return number - a call from the Archives, then. Brushing their long hair back behind their auricle crests, Kelas activated the array.

    “ _Salmakt,_ Dr Parmak here.”

    “ _Salmakt,_ Kelas.” A older, firm voice sounded from the speaker, and Kelas blinked - they hadn’t heard that voice in a while.

    “Castellan Garan,” they replied, gathering their wits. “A pleasure to speak with you. Did you call for a reason?”

    “Always pragmatic to a fault - you have not changed much, Doctor Parmak.” There was a light fondness at the edge of their voice.

    “I know enough to know you never use the array for things that can’t be done in person.”

    “True, true…” Garan was quiet for a few seconds, and Kelas could almost see them shaking their head. “I thought you should be the first to know that Ambassador Garak will be coming back to Cardassia soon.”

    “Coming back?” Kelas felt a wide smile push at the corners of their mouth. “That’s fantastic - do you know when? How?”

    “I hear he’ll be coming back on the _USS Enterprise_ \- you know, of course, of the treaty that’s being designed between us and the Federation?”

    “Of course - it’s the only thing Elim’s been working on for months. I assume it’s coming here to be signed?”

    “Yes - and Elim will be returning with it. He’ll be staying here for the near future too.”

    “That’s… that’s _amazing._ ” Kelas laughed, feeling a little giddy. “Thank you for letting me know.”

    “It was the right thing to do.” Garan hesitated for a moment, then continued, in a much quieter voice. “You understand why Ambassador Garak had to…”

    “Castellan, please.” Kelas rubbed their forehead, knowing exactly what was going to happen next. “Let’s not rehash old arguments. Alon sent him away, for reasons I disagree with. Lets leave it at that.”

    “I…” For a moment, Kelas thought Garan would argue the point, but they sighed. “No, I understand. Give Ambassador Garak my regards, would you?”

    “Of course. _ThIjuk_.”

    Kelas put the receiver down. The silence returned, but it was no longer stifling, but more… anticipatory. Waiting for another voice, another set of footsteps. The smile lingered on Kelas’ lips as they returned to their chores, a new sway in their hips, humming a little ditty as they worked. The song on the radio was winding down, slipping into the next one, and Kelas was certain if they focussed there would be another memory associated with that one, but it didn’t really matter. Elim was coming home, and nostalgic memories never matched up to having the real thing.

    Second star on the right and straight on till morning. Neverland didn’t seem so far away anymore.


End file.
